


Caught In Your Riptide, Can't Let You Know

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Church Sex, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Summary: Joe needs to remember that there are still some things worth fighting for
Relationships: Joseph Liebgott/Reader
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

You didn’t even seem surprised as you watched him slip into the cold stone sacristy behind you, your eyes dancing in the low light that trickled in through the cracks in the walls.

Joe didn’t believe in angels or demons, but right now he was willing to swear on whatever religious text he could get his hands on that you were both.

You’d been sitting just behind his left shoulder silently, head resting on your folded arm as they lay crossed on the back of his pew. The warmth on your hand around the back of his neck was sweet, the steady half-moon crescents your thumb made as it moved up and down the only thing keeping him from crawling out of his skin- a task that was becoming more and more difficult with each passing moment.

He knew that most mothers would tell their children that they couldn’t run away from their problems, he knew that for most it was just a turn of phrase.

But not for Joe

Since he was a child, he’d always chosen to run from conflict, too young to know what to do with all of the frenetic energy in his little body. That was before he’d learned how to hit and fight and shove the adrenaline from his veins, before his mother started _begging him_ to _just walk away_ from discord and hostile situations he always managed to get himself into.

When things became too much, Joe knew himself enough to know that he needed some sort of release- some physical outlet for all of the feelings that made his skin itch and feel too tight.

But he didn’t have it in him to fight anymore, not right now.

Not after months of watching the people he cared about die and get sick and break like brittle branches under the constant stress of battle. He was tired, so tired that he wondered if it were possible to die from exhaustion. Every bone in his body ached but he still had the urge to flee, as if he could run back to the safety of his home and the smell of the sea and his mother’s arms.

He wanted to run until everything made sense again.

There were only three things that stopped him from doing just that:

His hatred of injustice.

His loyalty to his friends.

His loyalty and love for _you_.

He never thought that there was a difference between loyalty and devotion until he’d met you, when he realized that you meant everything to him. As far as Joe Liebgott was concerned the sun and the stars only hung in the sky and shined because _you willed them to._ Before you’d even given him a second glance he’d known that he was willing to go to the ends of the earth if it meant making you happy. He thought he might even consider leaving San Francisco if doing so ensured you would spend the rest of your days by his side. 

Not that he told you any of that. 

Telling you how head over heels in love he was with you meant that _you’d know._

And if you knew, you could turn him away.

And he didn’t think he’d be able to deal with that.

So he settled for showing you how much he cared.

Sex had always been easy for him, another extension of his tendency to seek out a physical release when the thoughts and feelings boiling his blood became too much.

He was a quick learner and he’d be lying if he said that making his partner fall apart in ecstasy didn’t give him a major ego boost. For a skinny kid who’d been bullied for things beyond his control, knowing that he could fuck his tormenter’s girlfriends better than they ever could gave him the confidence to fight back. 

Joe never claimed to be a good man, something he used as an excuse for the libidinous delinquency of his early teenage years. It kept people from expecting anything from him, kept him safe from the disappointment he left in his wake

Those days felt like lifetimes ago now. 

Today, he felt powerless. He had no wind in his sails, no fire in his belly.

He needed to feel something good, something to remind him that he wasn’t as useless or powerless as this war left him feeling. 

And, because you were both sin and salvation in one, you had seen it.

Which was what brought him here, having trailed after you like the dutiful servant he was after you’d whispered the command in his ear.

You knew what he needed and because you were too good for him you would give it to him, you’d let him take back whatever prowess he’d lost in that month-long foxholed nightmare.

Your coat was already off, and when you whispered his name he came to stand before you obediently. Your bruised and battle-raw hands found his face and brushed gently against his cheeks, fingertips trailing the path across his too-sharp cheekbones as if he were something precious.

Why you kept coming back to him, Joe would never know. He wanted to, but that would mean the two of you would have to actually talk about those feelings lurking beneath your bated breaths and he knows that would change this strange dynamic he cherished so much.

When you whisper his name again, he finally meets your eyes- feeling small and intrusive under such open care. Sincerity made him anxious, but with you he couldn’t bring himself to lie about how broken he was. Keeping the depth of his affection from you wasn’t as much a lie as it was an omission, or at least that’s how he justified it to himself.

The fisr press of your lips to his is always sweet, and this time is no exception. Your lips are chapped but still softer than they have any right to be, and when you press your next kiss to his mouth you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into you.

Joe takes your bottom lip gently between his, always wanting to make sure that this was what you actually wanted, that you got at least a moment of sweetness before he let himself be selfish.

Because that’s what he was, even though he didn’t want to be- especially not with you.

But it was all he knew. 

_Why did you let him do this?_

You sigh shallowly as he grips at your hips, his tongue spearing your lips apart so he can make the kiss deeper, firmer. _Better_ . _More_.

The hands that had fisted in his hair slide down his chest and begin to unbuckle his gun belt, fingers nimble and quick from muscle memory. You don’t have much room to work, not with the way he’s pressing his torso into yours yet still you manage to drop it to the floor and move on to the buttons of his jacket.

He can feel your brows furrowing as you press your forehead to his and gasp for breath, your eyelashes ticking his skin as he kisses at whatever part of your face he can get his lips on.

His hands pull and fist into the mess of your hair as he walks you backward, letting one of his hands follow the curve of your neck to wrap around your throat when your back meets the wall.

Holding you there, he kisses you with tongue and teeth and groans when he tastes blood.

“ _Yeah_?” he asks, and when he hears you echo the word he knows that you don’t mind the overenthusiasm. That you don’t want him to stop.

It’s his turn now to seek the belt holding up your cargo pants, his fingers noticeably fumbling with excitement and making the metal of the buckle clack promisingly against itself.

He doesn’t bother removing the belt from the loops, more focused on tackling the button keeping him from his goal.

Your nails are scratching at his chest, his neck and scalp as you match his eagerness. He likes when your nails are a bit overgrown like this- likes the bite of them and the red lines they leave behind despite your attempts to refrain from marking him.

If Joe had his way, you’d leaven him bruised from head to toe from your love bites. He wants people to know how much you want him, how desperate you get int hese moments.

You are so reserved in public. It had shocked him how untamed you could be in private.

You’re pleading with him under your breath, alternating between his name and telling him to hurry up. It drives him wild, the idea of you impatient to get him inside of you.

It makes him so hard it hurts.

The moment that he unfastens your pants you’re turning around and bracing your hands against the wall, gasping quietly when he tears them down your legs and kneels to free at least one of your feet from the leg of your pants. Your underwear comes down easily, and as it does the smell of your arousal is revealed to him like someone uncorking a fine wine.

Joe bites the skin of the backs of your thighs as he follows the scent to the source, bunching your shirt around your hips and pulling at your waist so your back is arched for him. You always hiss when he kneads the cheeks of your ass up and away so he can nose at the thatch of damp hair between your legs, and if you were somewhere else he knows you’d call him disgusting and depraved.

As if those words didn’t encourage his behavior. As if it made him any less debauched.

“Not now, Joe,” you mumble, one of your hands reaching behind you to grip onto his too-long hair and pull at him. “I can’t keep quiet if you do that now, not here….”

You’re right, your otherworldly self-control does always seem to slip when he eats you out- which he loves but he also knows that getting caught doing such a thing in a church is something neither of you wants to have happen.

So he settles for ducking a quick kiss there and biting your buttcheek before he stands and pulls himself from his pants.

You keep your hand in his hair as you press your forehead against your forearm against the wall. Joe can feel your back heaving with the quick, deep breaths you’re taking, the knowledge that you’re this worked up because of him adding to the tight warmth pooling at the base of his spine.

If you both somehow managed to survive this war, the first thing he wanted to do was fuck you until you passed out. Watching you hazy and fucked out was one of the only things he missed about being in Toccoa.

He’s wrapped his arm around your hip and doesn’t realize how vigorously he’s been rubbing at your sex until you twist your grip in his hair so tightly he almost cries out in pain.

“ _Please please please, inside me, don’t make me come until you’re inside me—_ ”

How is he supposed to deny a request like that? When you’ve asked so sweetly?

The first thrust inside of you almost unmans him, it’s been so long since he’s been able to relish in the hot and tight squeeze of you that he nearly blows his load embarrassingly soon.

He’s hooked his chin over your shoulder and gasps pathetically into the soft pillow of your hair, glad you are so distracted by your own pleasure that you probably don’t hear the high keen in his throat as he starts to piston his hips.

Keeping one hand between your legs he brings the other up your stomach to grope at your chest, the feeling of your nipple against the rough skin of his palm sending rivulets of sweat down his back.

You always started babbling when he started playing with your tits, making him think that your past partners had neglected to give them the attention they deserved. Since your time in Europe, he’d noticed that they’d become smaller, most likely from losing your soft weight under the heavily rationed diet they all sustained themselves on.

He didn’t mind, if anything he thought they had become more sensitive from it.

Next time, he’d make sure to pay more attention to them from the get-go.

_Next time._

With that thought, Joe suddenly remembers the sight of you huddled behind the hay bale beside Dike. watching you and his friends scramble for cover under the heavy fire of the German Army had made him sick to his stomach, the lack of direction from Foxhole Norman leaving you vulnerable for far longer than you ought to have been.

Joe, stuck providing suppressing fire in the tree line, had never felt more useless in his life. Because all he could do was watch while Dike pulled your body over his in some desperate attempt to shield himself from enemy fire, your screams for Dike to let you go reaching Joe’s ears and making his heart still in his chest.

If Joe had had a clear shot, he would have truly considered taking it.

Suddenly, the fact that Joe can’t see your face is wildly unacceptable, and he pulls himself from your velvet heat immediately.

Hands finding your hips, he twists you around before you can voice your protest- your face twisting in pleasure when he shoves you up the wall and sheathes himself inside of you once more.

_Yeah, this is better. God, you’re beautiful._

Your head is thrown back as you bite back your sounds of pleasure, your breaths coming out sharp and hard with each full rut of him inside you. Skin flushed and shining, some of your hairs are sticking to your temples attractively and when you look down and catch him admiring you, you smile.

The press of your forehead to his allows him to hear all the praise you’re gritting out between clenched teeth for him- your words making him moan low in his throat.

“You’re close,” you sigh, a hitched sigh interrupting your cooing. “Shit, Joe- I can _feel_ how close you are—”

“ _Shut up_ .” he hisses without any venom, not disagreeing with your observation but also not wanting to come before you. “Just, _shut up_ about it— **_fuck_ **.”

Before he can stop you, you capture his lips in a deep kiss and clench down around him- a move you know he can’t resist.

He always seemed to forget how wicked you can be when it comes to making him come. your drive to push him over the edge first was just as strong as his desire to do the same to you.

Unfortunately, it seemed like you were going to win this time.

The bite of your nails at the nape of his neck paired with a dragging, tight roll of your hips sends him tumbling over the edge- your hand slamming over his mouth before his guttural cry has a chance to escape his throat.

“ _Yes yes yes yes yes…_ ” you are praising from somewhere near his left ear, his vision going white and his muscles clenching violently with the force of his orgasm. “ _Look at you….shit, don’t stop doing- oh!_ ”

The feeling of you fluttering around him is foggy in his blissed-out mind, and when he feels himself re-enter his body he is sitting beside you on the cold stone floor and you’re running your hands over his face and brushing his sweaty hair from his brow.

When he regains use of his limbs, he brings his hands up to take your wrists and pull them until your face is close enough for him to kiss, his lips lazy and slow against yours as you kiss him back.

All too soon, you duck a quick kiss to his cheek and sit back- using the hem of your shirt to wipe at his cum as it gathers between your legs.

He knows what comes now- he knows that you’re going to leave and give him a moment to put himself together and rejoin you whenever he’s ready.

That’s how it’s always gone, and while he hates it he knows that he was the one who started this routine back in Georgia- because he was afraid that he’d accidentally tell you how much he loved you.

Joe knows that he needs to tell you, the words curling on his tongue as he watches you put your clothes back on and rebraid your hair away from your face. He knows that if he asked you to stay that you would, you’d stay and let him tell you how lost he would be without you- how this isn’t about sex and hasn’t been just sex for a long time.

But he doesn’t, and when you sling your gun over your shoulder and turn back to give him a knowing smile he can only give you a wink that portrays more cockiness than he actually feels.

“Better?” you ask, your cheeks still rosy and your lips still swollen from his biting kisses.

_He can’t, not now. It could ruin everything._

“Better.” he hears himself agree, and the moment you slip out of sight he smacks his helmet and it skitters across the floor.

Alone, in the dark room that now smelled like sex, Joe wonders how much longer he’s going to be able to keep quiet.

Because when he’s like this, he’s reminded of how there may not be a next time.

Fishing around for a cigarette in the pocket of his pants, Joe tells himself that he’ll tell you in the morning.

Maybe he'll be braver in the morning.


	2. The Terrifying Hope of More

Joe watched as you picked at your nails, your legs on his lap as you sat in your seat between him and Eugene Jackson while you all waited for the meeting to start.

The room was filled with murmuring conversation, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations and already accustomed enough to the sight of you and him sitting like this that no one gave the two of you much attention.

They didn’t know you were sleeping together, but they did know you were close.

Joe didn’t mind it that way. He sometimes got the feeling you did though, especially when a new replacement would try and take his shot with you.

And because Joe was Joe, no one read too much into it when he would take it upon himself to make it clear that you were not to be fucked with.

You must’ve felt him watching you, your eyes flicking up to meet his before he had a chance to look away. The corners of your lips quirk up in a quick smile as you shoot him a wink and he can’t help but return it.

He moved his hand from the curve of your knee and drummed his fingers down your shinbone, his chest feeling warmer as he watches your smile widen enough to show your teeth.

It had been a while since he’d seen you smile like that- in the way he used to see all the time before Bastogne.

When he shoots you another wink, you shake your head and roll your eyes before the sight of Lieutenant Jones walking into the dining-room-made-debriefing-office catches your attention. Joe frowns, eyeing the baby-faced kid with unmasked disdain. 

Joe didn’t like the guy, and despite your insistence that he ought to at least give Jones a chance before casting him off as some well-to-do West Point trust fund baby, Joe couldn’t bring himself to do so. 

The last thing this Company needed was another empty uniform demanding respect when the most significant thing Jones had done was probably tying his boots by himself. They’d had one of those already, and look where that fucker had gotten them.

Stuck in the middle of a gunfight and getting six better men killed.

Jones’s blue eyes scanned the room, those eyes widening when he noticed how you and Joe were sitting.

When the kid narrowed his eyes disapprovingly, Joe felt his frown turn into a scowl.

“Whatcha lookin' at,  _ Boot _ ?” Joe sneered, ignoring your hiss for him to let it go. “Something you wanna say?”

Jones raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side and standing up a bit straighter.

“Only wondering what makes you think this sort of conduct is acceptable between two soldiers.”

Joe snorts at that, shaking his head at the nerve of the spoiled brat.

“ _ Now listen, you little punk— _ ”

His threat is cut off by you snapping his name at him, your chair creaking as you sit up and take your legs from his lap to put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“ _ Leave it _ ,” you say quietly, and when Joe looks at you he sees that your eyes are still narrowed at the young man currently meeting your glare with one of his own. “C’mon. He’s just doing his job….”

Joe, having already heard that the new lieutenant had voiced disapproval for your presence and familiarity with the rest of the guys, bit back the insult he had prepared and slumped back in his chair. As he fishes a cigarette from his breast pocket, he swings his legs up and loudly plops his feet down on the table in front of him.

“Yeah, ‘hate to get on Pipsqueak's bad side.”

As he lights the end of the cigarette, Joe hears Grant snort a laugh from his other side, the sound catching Jones’s attention and freeing the two of you from his scrutiny.

You take your hand from his shoulder and rest your elbows on your knees- shooting Joe a look that makes your mutual dislike of the man clear.

“ _ Ich denke er ist eine Jungfrau _ (i think he’s a virgin).” 

Joe chuckles at that, taking a deep pull from his cigarette before answering.

“ _ Nein,  _ **_er_ ** (no, him)?” Joe murmurs back, watching your profile as you bite back a grin. “ _ Dieser Typ muss die Damen wahrscheinlich mit einem Stock abwehren  _ (This guy probably has to fend off the ladies with a stick)....”

You scoff at that, leaning down to tighten your boot’s laces. “Yeah,  _ Nur weil sie immer wieder versuchen, ihn zu einer anständigen Stunde ins Bett zu bringen  _ (Only because they keep trying to get him to bed at a decent hour).”

Someone clears their throat from somewhere behind him, and when Joe turns around he sees that Webster is standing there with his arms crossed across his chest and a disapproving look on his face.

Joe, having reached his limit for receiving judging looks from people who thought they were better than him, gave Webster the look you had once dubbed his ‘bitchiest glare’.

“Can I fuckin’ _ help you _ ? Something you wanna add, Harvard?”

He hears you sigh a laugh, the two of you watching Webster furrows his brow and clench his jaw before turning away.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

When Joe turns back around, he sees that you have let yourself slump back into your seat, head resting on your chin on your hand as you lean heavily on the armrest, bouncing your leg as you let the anxiety he had a feeling you were trying to suppress resurface once more.

He hated seeing you upset. If the two of you were alone, he would’ve let himself lean forward in his seat enough to press a kiss to your forehead.

But you weren’t alone, so he settled for reaching his hand out to squeeze reassuringly at the tense muscle of your shoulder. Joe knows it’s enough for you when you lift your head from your hand and move to rest your cheek on the back of his hand for a few moments before returning to your previous position.

He keeps his hand there as talk turns to speculation of who in the room was going to lead the patrol. 

All Joe could hope for was that you had secured your freedom from the fool’s errand by helping Nix secure the rubber boats to cross the river in.

Because, if Joe’s gut feeling turned out to be true, he didn’t want you following an infant-like Jones into danger.

Not when the end of this years-long nightmare was finally becoming a possibility.

~

Before he’d taken position to provide suppressing fire, while you’d helped him oil his gun, you’d asked him in German to find you after he was done.

“ _ If you’re able to, _ ” you’d added in English, the quick switch between languages catching his attention and making him look at you in confusion. “ _ You don’t have to if you don’t feel like— _ ”

“‘ _ Course I will, _ ” he’d said, confusion staining his reassurance. “ _ You know I will. _ ”

_ Like he’d ever failed to come to you when you asked him to. As if he’d deny you anything. _

When he finds you later that night, you’re huddled beneath two blankets and giving him a tired smile- one he hollowly returns.

Neither of you knew about what happened to Eugene Jackson. Which, in hindsight, was for the best.

It was easier to rest without a broken heart.

As he slips beneath the blankets beside you, he is quick to attach his lips to yours and kiss the breath from your lungs, smiling into the kiss when you slide your fingers into his hair and gently rub at his scalp.

Joe didn’t feel the need to run as badly when he knew you were waiting for him.

You taste like army toothpaste and chocolate- your sweet tooth almost as bad as his own. He found it endearing- and on nights when he couldn’t sleep he sometimes let himself imagine you sneaking sweets as a round-faced little kid under the nose of your overly-strict father.

Once or twice he’d let himself wonder if, should the two of you ever have a kid together, if they’d, too, have such a habit.

But he never let the thought linger for too long. It was one of those thoughts that could only lead to heartache, just like thoughts of home and family he’d left behind.

All either of you had was  _ now,  _ it was safer that way.

Joe is just about to slide his hand down the front of your pants when you take a hand from his hair and grip his wrist to stop him, breaking the heating kiss to mumble his name against his lips with a serious tone in your voice.

_ Uh oh. You didn’t use that tone unless something was up. _

When you pull back from him enough to look in his eyes, he feels his stomach turn sour with fear. You look serious and hesitant, and immediately Joe runs through the list of the worst possible things that could have you like this.

_ You’re hurt, you’re sick, someone’s died, you’re getting set home, you’re getting sent somewhere ahead of the company, you’re pregnant— _

_Oh_ **_fuck_**.

All of the blood drains from his face at the thought.

He tries to remember the symptoms of pregnancy, but his only experience was with his mother being pregnant with his sisters and he’d been too young to pay much attention at the time.

Joe didn’t think you’d been sick, but your breasts had been tender and  _ Jesus Christ  _ the two of you hadn’t used condoms the last few times and  _ why hadn’t you guys used condoms what were you two idiots thinking? _

Almost as if you could hear the anxious thoughts swirling around his head, you take his face in your hands and command for him to breathe.

“I’m fine, you didn’t do anything wrong, stop freaking out,  _ nothing’s wrong….” _

Your brows furrow unhappily as your eyes flick across his face and take in his encroaching panic attack, fingers petting his face as you hush him softly.

“Joe—”

“Okay,” he nods, his voice light and slightly wavering. “Okay,  _ sorry— _ ”

“I just….I sort of just wanted to, you know, _ be here.  _ With  _ you. _ ”

Oh.  _ Oh. _

You guys had never done that before- well, you’d fallen asleep together, but that was always after…. _ sleeping together. _

“ _ Oh _ ,” he says stupidly, wincing internally when he sees your face drop and your eyes flicker away.

“ _ Sorry _ ,” you say quietly, letting your hands slide from his face as you turn to sit up. “Forget I said anything, you don’t need to stay—”

Joe quickly takes your wrists in his hands and sits up with you, readjusting his hold so he can hold both of your hands between his.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I know how it sounded, but-” he cuts himself off, bringing your hands back to his face and putting them back on either side of his face. Your eyes are hesitant when you finally look up to meet his imploring gaze, and he feels like a dick for making you feel stupid.

“I just assumed when you asked me to find you, that you meant….you know—”

You scoff at that, taking your hands back and turning so he can only see your profile as you rake your hands frustratedly through your hair.

“ _ Jesus _ , Joe. You’re acting like I only like you  _ for your dick… _ .”

Something about the way you say it catches him off guard, like you find the notion ridiculous. He almost starts to tell you that- that he’s almost exclusively come to expect this sort of dynamic with people he sleeps with. 

But he doesn’t. Not only would that probably upset you further, but it would open the door to conversations he’s not sure he’s ready to have with you.

You’re coming really close to the boundary he’s drawn for himself.

It doesn’t make him  _ mad _ , it just makes him nervous.

Apparently, he’s been quiet for too long. You’ve clearly read into the silence and reached an accurate conclusion from it, because suddenly you reach your hand out and take his so you can bring it into your lap and just hold it.

“Would you...Is that a problem?” you ask softly, and despite the fact that you aren’t looking at him you seem to feel his confusion at the question. “I mean, would you be mad if i didn’t just like you for sex?”

Now Joe is the one to pull his hand away, the motion quick as if you had burned him.

You’d officially stepped across the line- if anything, you’ve vaulted over the line and landed far further than he was ready to deal with.

“ _ You don’t mean that.” _

You whip your head around to look at him so quickly some of the joints in your neck pop, both his hand and yours coming to cup the back of your head at the snap of sound. He hisses as you do, kneading at the tendons and quietly asking if you’re okay.

When you nod, he starts to slide his hand away again, startling when you look back up at him with such hurt in your eyes that for a moment he thinks you may have seriously harmed yourself.

“Why would I lie about something like that?”

While he’s relieved that you aren’t physically hurt, he still feels the adrenaline in his blood beginning to spark with the need to escape.

But he can’t, he knows he can’t. Not when you’re looking so deeply wounded that he fears you might start to cry.

Again, he doesn’t answer.

Joe watches as you bite the inside of your cheeks and sniff, shaking your head from side to side softly.

It isn’t fair, he thinks. It isn’t fair that, even when you’re clearly upset with him, you still are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

When you do speak again, your voice is tight and quiet.

“I guess this is a shit time to tell you that I’m in love with you, isn’t it.”

_ Fuck.  _ **_FUCK_ ** _! _

Why would you say that? You can’t just say something  _ like that— _

There are tears in your eyes, and when you smile it’s broken and rueful.

_“I’m such an idiot._ ”

You give him what can only be perceived as a parting glance, and Joe watches helplessly as you push yourself to your feet and reach for your scarf which you’d tossed by your duffle bag.

“I’m gonna go for a walk. If you’re gone by the time I get back, I’ll never bring it up again and we can just move on from this and be mature about this…. _ arrangement _ ending. No hard feelings.”

Like a gaping idiot, Joe just watches as you swing your gun around your shoulder and start to head for the door.

The sight is too familiar, the ache in his chest forcing him to remember each and every time he’d watched you leave because he’d never thought to ask for more or made you feel that he didn’t want anything else.

This one had a horrible sense of finality. And if Joe knew anything about you, it was that you didn’t say things half-heartedly- whether they be positive or negative.

And right now he understood that if he wasn’t here when you got back, you’d never let him see you- you wouldn’t see him as anything more than a comrade.

That wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t something he could live with.

Waiting didn’t feel like enough.

“Y/N,  _ Warten Sie mal _ (please wait)....”

The sound of your boot scuffing as you stop mid-step is the most hopeful sound in the world, and Joe’s throat feels painfully tight as he watches you clench your fists at your sides at the request.

He knows you are scared, and he hates that he’s the one making you feel that way.

So he listens to the force in his body that is screaming for him to  _ go, go, go. _

Joe nearly  _ runs _ to you.

Joe nearly knocks you off your feet when he collides with you, nearly bending you over backward as he locks an arm around your waist and just  _ kisses _ you until  _ he _ can’t breathe.

Your hands come up to rest on his chest but that’s all they’re doing- _resting_.

You aren’t kissing him back, any movement your lips make only because he’s the one moving them.

That doesn’t surprise him- you probably don’t think he’s being sincere.

Which is fair.

When he pulls back he can see the doubt on your face, tears welling up in your eyes as your lips press into a firm line as you warily meet his gaze.

“ _ Es tut mir Leid  _ (I’m sorry),” he says breathlessly, pulling one of your hands up to touch his face after pressing a kiss to its palm. “ _ Ich will nicht, dass du gehst, ich liebe dich auch  _ (I don’t want you to go, I love you too)—”

“No you don't. You just want to keep  _ fucking _ me whenever you get lonely—”

He is already shaking his head before you finish speaking, not wanting to hear what he already knows you’re thinking.

“Ich.  _ Liebe.  _ **_Dich_ ** **—** ”

“ _ Then say it in English. _ ”

When he narrows his eyes in confusion, you bring your other hand up to hold his face firmly between your hands, making him watch the tears rolling down your face as you glare at him.

“You always speak German when you’re telling me something private- something you don’t want other people to know or hear.”

You swallow back emotion, clenching your jaw a few times before leveling him with a look.

“If you mean it- say it in English. If you’re just saying it because you’re scared or stubborn or being selfish—”

_“I love you._ ”

You inhale sharply at that, closing your eyes as a sob bursts past your lips.

Joe pulls you into him so his forehead is pressed against yours, fisting a careful hand in your hair and hoping you can feel his determination in his grip.

“I’m fuckin’  _ in love _ with you- I’ve  _ been _ in love with you for so long it’s embarrassing—”

“Then why did you just get shitty with me?”

You open your eyes and glare.

“Why would I believe you when you just acted like I'd told you that I'd just given you a disease?”

Joe deserved that. 

Part of him wants to argue with you but the greater part of him is more afraid that he’s too late, that he’s already lost you.

That’s the only thing he’s willing to fight about right now, to fight _for_ \- _you and him_.

“‘Cause I’m a little bitch who isn’t good at feelings?”

You scoff a laugh at that, the sound making him smile and nod in confirmation of how ridiculous that explanation sounds.

When he feels your thumbs brush the tired skin beneath his eyes, he thinks he might cry too.

“Yeah, that sounds like Joe Liebgott,” you say softly, a sad smile flickering at the corners of your lips.

“If I’d wanted emotional proclamations, I should’ve gotten with Webster—”

Another laugh bursts past your lips when he immediately scowls, one of your hands coming up to smooth the furrow in his brow with your thumb.

Joe leans into your touch, hope burning bright in his chest as your gaze softens.

This time when he kisses you, it’s softer, more controlled. Your lips taste like salt but for some reason Joe swears it makes the kiss sweeter. As your arms wrap around his neck he slides his grip on your waist so his hand curves along your side with your ribcage, the thrum of your heart calming beneath his palm.

“I love you,” you sigh against his lips, pressing a soft peck on each of his whiskery cheeks. “ _ I love you, I love you, I love you… _ ”

For the first time, the two of you make love- unrushed and syrupy and heady.

Your sighs are sugar to his ears, the hands you rake through his hair gentle and reassuring as he suckles at the burning sweetness between your legs. Each sigh of his name makes his heart _ache_ with affection, and at the first rock into your sex Joe swears he had never known anything more perfect.

As your soft breaths warm the skin of his chest while you sleep, glowing and sated and securely curved into his side- Joe lets a few tears break free from his eyes and roll down his temples while he stares up at the ceiling.

He never in his wildest dreams ever imagined having something like this, let alone something like this with anyone as perfect as you. But rather than feeling anxious that something would inevitably come and ruin it or take it away, Joe felt nothing but  _ secure _ .  _ Held. Wanted. Loved.  _

In your arms, with the end of the war in sight and the promise of home on everybody's lips, Joe let his eyes slip closed without the desire to be anywhere else.

For the first time in his life, Joe Liebgott began to dream of a life without running.


End file.
